


Okay, strike that

by Wandamaixmoff



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, badass!sansa, baseball bats should be their own warning tbh, fireman!jon, listen jon gets his ass handed to him but it ends up being cute so there's that, literally no-one asked me to write this AU yet here I am, sansa is always badass that shouldn't even have to be it's own tag, the fluffiest thing i've ever written?? in my whole life??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 19:52:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14921804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wandamaixmoff/pseuds/Wandamaixmoff
Summary: Within a few seconds, Sansa gets her bearings before overwhelming panic floods her veins; it’s 1:26pm, her sheets will need a wash thanks to a sweaty outline of her body due to the intense summer heat, and someone is breaking into her apartment.And she’s stark naked.Well, fuck.





	Okay, strike that

**Author's Note:**

> look, i based this one shot from this post on tumblr: http://teamwanda.co.vu/post/174433546957/stephrc79-riverofwhispers-iverbz 
> 
> you can't blame me for reading that and automatically thinking about jonsa, okay?

Sansa’s eyes snap open at the sound of the lock on her apartment door being opened. She groggily lifts her head from her pillow, long pieces of red hair glued to her face from the summer heat. Within a few seconds, Sansa gets her bearings before overwhelming panic floods her veins; it’s 1:26pm, her sheets will need a wash thanks to a sweaty outline of her body, and someone is breaking into her apartment.

 

And she’s stark naked.

 

_Well, fuck._

 

A thousand thoughts race through Sansa’s mind as she tries to truly understand her situation. It's her day off from work at the hospital and all she had planned to do was catch-up on some much needed sleep. Being a nurse six days out of seven was completely draining, physically and emotionally. Every nerve in Sansa's body is screaming at her to run, to escape, to get anywhere away from here. The more sensible part of her brain tells her to ring the police right away, but her front door is outside her bedroom. Her paper-thin walls almost guarantee that the thief will hear her. The more reckless voice in her head whispers, _so stop them yourself._

 

Sansa closes her eyes and thinks up the most imaginative expletive she can and takes a deep, fortifying breath. Allowing herself a few more seconds to curse everything and everyone in the world, Sansa quietly rolls off her bed and lands in a crouch. Shoving stray pieces of hair out her eyes, she crawls over to her bedroom door. Trembling fingers reach out to grasp the base of her baseball bat, a gift from her older brother Robb a few months ago when she first moved in.

 

“Just in case anyone gets any ideas about sneaking into my little sister’s new apartment,” Robb had laughed, shoving the baseball bat into Sansa’s hands.

 

She had rolled her eyes at him at the time, but Sansa now closes her eyes and sends out a little prayer of thanks to her older, goofy brother. Sansa readjusts her death grip on the bat as she stands to her full height, mentally preparing herself to face her intruder. Her nightgown rests on her desk on the other side of the room and Sansa is half-tempted to stop her ambush before it even begins for the sake of modesty.

 

A soft crash beyond her door snaps Sansa’s attention back to the matter at hand. A husky voice quietly curses and Sansa breathes in deeply through her nose, trying to calm the storm of nerves pulsating in her stomach. She slowly turns the knob of the door and, not allowing the chance to second guess herself, launches herself out her bedroom.

 

She quickly locates the intruder whose back is to her as he crouches to inspect something in her kitchen. He begins to turn around when he hears her feet running across the polished wood. The thief barely has enough time to raise his hands in defence before Sansa, hyped up on fearful adrenaline, rains down hit after hit, not even aiming for anything in particular.

 

“Ow, shit – what the-?” he yells, trying to block each of her frantic, instinctive blows. He eventually gets a grip on the bat and easily yanks it out her hands. Before he decides to attack her, Sansa desperately grabs a frying pan from the cleaning rack next to the sink. She raises it above her head, about to continue her onslaught, when her intruder drops the bat and lifts his hands up in defeat.

 

“Hold up, wait!” he holds his hands out in front of him like a shield. A cut above his eye grabs Sansa’s attention and before she can puff her chest out in pride, she notices the rest of him. Specifically, the fact that he’s, very obviously now that she’s no longer attacking him, wearing a fireman’s uniform.

 

Sansa drops the frying pan like it’s burnt her skin and barely registers its crash to the floor as she covers her mouth with both hands. Wide-eyed, Sansa stares down at him in shock before coming to her senses.

 

“Crap! I’m so sorry! Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Sansa crouches down to help him up and fusses over his eye. Still apologising, she hastily grabs a tissue from her counter and dabs at the blood steadily seeping through the cut.

 

“It’s okay,” the man says as he flinches away from her frantic hands. His eyes travel up and down her body several times, his cheeks flushing a deep red. Sansa then realises two more things: she’s still naked, and her would-be intruder is drop-dead gorgeous. He runs a hand absentmindedly through dark curls that fall into his face, framed by a neatly trimmed beard, as his grey eyes try in vain to focus on anything but her. He’s about the same height as Sansa and she can already tell that he’s toned and muscular underneath his dark blue t-shirt and baggy, khaki firemen pants.

 

Sansa lets out a pathetic squeak before backing away from him, dropping the tissue absent-mindedly in the rubbish bin.

 

“Um, I’m just – I, um,” Sansa stutters, vaguely motioning with her hands towards her bedroom as she continues to walk backwards.

 

The fireman finally meets her eyes and gives a brusque nod in understanding, his cheeks still flaming red. Sansa swivels on her heel and makes a beeline for her bedroom and snatches her nightgown from her desk. Sansa hastily ties the robe painfully secure around her waist and turns around to say something, what exactly she doesn’t really know yet, when another fireman bursts through her front door.

 

“Jon? I heard shouting, what’s happening?”

 

The fireman in her kitchen, Jon apparently, holds up another tissue to his cut above his eye and grins lopsidedly at his colleague.

 

“It’s okay, Theon, it was just a little mis-”

 

“It was my fault,” Sansa interrupts, smiling shyly and apologetically at Jon, holding the tie to her nightgown tightly in her hand.

 

Theon whips his head around to her and Sansa closes the bedroom door behind her. He gives her a short glance over and turns to Jon for an explanation. Jon opens his mouth, but Sansa quickly cuts him off.

 

“I thought someone was breaking into my apartment, so I grabbed my baseball bat and I started to attack who I thought was a thief but was actually…well…” Sansa trails off helplessly, gesturing in Jon’s general direction.

 

“You weren’t informed by the complex that we were coming to check everyone’s fire extinguishers?” Jon asks, meeting her eyes for the first time since she put on her nightgown and Sansa’s stomach flips. _Traitor_.

 

Sansa shakes her head, no, but looks over in concern as Theon looks like he’s doubling over. She rushes over to help him, but he waves her away, rising up again to wipe away tears of laughter from his eyes.

 

“Jon, Jon, wait is that – is that the bat she used to beat you up? Is that a frying pa-” Theon’s laughter cuts off the rest of what he was saying as he doubles over again. He points to the discarded bat in the kitchen that has a smear of blood marring the wood.

 

Sansa, guiltily looking up at Jon through her lashes, catches him giving Theon a glare frosty enough to cool the intense summer heat. Jon’s eyes trail back over to her and, to her surprise, his cheeks flame red again. He quickly looks away, dabbing the dirty tissue to his eye. Sansa leaves Theon’s side, who’s still laughing hysterically in the background, and holds her hand out to Jon. Jon looks down at her hand for a moment, scrunches up the bloodied tissue in his other hand, and grips her hand in a firm handshake.

 

“We haven’t been officially introduced. I’m Sansa.”

 

“Jon,” he says, his lips quirking up slightly at the corner of his mouth. Sansa can’t help but return the smile, and notices after a few beats that they haven’t let each other’s hands go.

 

* * *

 

 “Who’s the dreamboat?” Margaery asks, taking another sip of her martini.

 

“Who?” Sansa asks dumbly, idly swirling her straw around her drink. She nearly has to shout over the sound of the jukebox in the corner, blasting _Somebody to Love_ by Queen.

 

“That guy over there,” Margaery nods past Sansa’s shoulder. “Dark curls, dreamy eyes, and currently making his way over here.”

 

Sansa whirls around in her seat at the bar to look over her shoulder. The dark lighting in the pub makes it hard to make out anyone, but when she sees who _exactly_ Margaery is referring to Sansa spins back around and tries to hide her blush with a curtain of red hair. She stares down at her drink and tries to calm the burst of butterflies in her stomach.

 

“Oh my god, who is it? A disastrous one-night stand? An ex? Why haven’t I heard of him before?” Margaery relentlessly interrogates her best friend, ignoring Sansa’s death glare. Sansa opens her mouth to tell Margaery off when –

 

“Sansa? Is that you?”

 

Sansa looks up through her lashes at Jon and Margaery dutifully spins around in her seat, ordering another martini.

 

“Hey, Jon,” Sansa smiles awkwardly, hoping her voice comes out stronger than she thinks. She never thought she’d ever see him again after their disastrous first meeting nearly a week ago. He looks absolutely gorgeous, dark skinny jeans and a black Henley accentuating his toned body, curls falling into his face as he smiles down at her.

 

“I never thought I’d see you again,” Jon says, distractingly brushing his hair out his face with his hand. Sansa can’t help the heat rising to her face as she curls a long strand of red hair behind her ear. She sincerely hopes that the lighting in here is too dim for him to notice.

 

“How’s the eye?” Sansa asks, grinning up at Jon.

 

“Better, I only needed a few stitches,” Jon laughs. Sansa’s smile falls off her lips as she sees the remnants of her attack properly for the first time, a few stitches scarring the skin above Jon’s right eye. Sansa jumps out of her seat and, before she can second guess her less-than-sober actions, places her fingertips gently across the stitches.

 

“Oh my god, Jon! I’m so, so sorry, I can’t believe-”

 

“It’s fine, Sansa,” Jon interrupts, gently removing her hand from his face but squeezes her hand in comfort. “If anything, I have you to thank. I have a badass scar above my eye now.”

 

Sansa grins cheekily at him. “I bet that it gets you all the girls,” she whispers conspiratorially.

 

Jon gives her a long look, long enough for heat to pool at the bottom of Sansa’s belly. She can’t help but bite her bottom lip and Jon’s eyes darken even further.

 

“Well, let me make it up to you,” Sansa smiles shyly, and squeezes Jon’s hand one last time before letting go. “I’ll shout your drinks for the rest of the night.”

 

Jon grins lopsidedly at her and nods his head. “Deal,” he says, sitting on the stool next to hers at the bar. “But don’t let any of the other guys know that it was you who gave me this scar. Manly honour, and all that nonsense.”

 

Jon gestures vaguely over his shoulder to a group of guys playing pool in the back of the bar. Sansa spots Theon amongst them, who’s already smirking at them over his cue. Sansa laughs and tucks another stand of hair behind her ear.

 

“I think you’re already out of luck, Jon.”

 

Sansa looks over at Theon who is interrupting the rest of the game to point at Jon and Sansa and gestures wildly in a batting motion. Jon looks over his shoulder and groans into his hands helplessly. She sees the start of a blush forming over his cheeks and she puts her hand on his thigh, laughing loudly.

 

“I better hear the entire story, you savage minx,” Sansa hears Margaery whisper into her ear from her other side.

 

Jon looks at Sansa over his hands and smiles bashfully before taking a large gulp of his ale. Sansa tries to hide her smile by taking another sip of her drink.

 

* * *

 

She’s barely able to lock the door to her apartment before Jon has her pinned to the wall, trailing hot kisses down her neck. Sansa drops her bag and keys to the ground, carding her hands through Jon’s dark curls and tugging gently at the ends. Jon pulls back from her neck, cups her cheek and his lips crash into hers, eager, passionate, feverish. Sansa curls her arms around his broad shoulders, pressing her chest closer against his. Jon groans into her mouth and pins her more fully against the wall with his body. Sansa begins to laugh into the kiss and Jon slowly pulls back, smiling fondly but confusedly down at her.

 

“I just realised that you’ve already seen me naked,” Sansa giggles. Jon chuckles, knocking his forehead gently against hers before pecking her quickly on the lips.

 

“I promise I’ll buy you dinner next time,” he whispers against her lips.

 

The promise of a next time makes Sansa stop giggling. She closes the distance between them to tenderly, slowly press her lips against his. Jon holds her tighter to his body, nearly protectively. For such a disastrous first meeting, it didn’t end up that bad at all.

 

_FIN_

**Author's Note:**

> check out my trashy jonsa blog on tumblr: http://teamwanda.co.vu


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